


All My Pictures of You

by alicecoldwater



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Fantasy Fulfillment, Fluff and Smut, Pillow Talk, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, references to masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 18:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3780685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicecoldwater/pseuds/alicecoldwater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver and Felicity talk about some of their earliest fantasies about each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All My Pictures of You

**Author's Note:**

> A little Sunday morning smut as we gear up for the main event on Wednesday!
> 
> Not exactly what it says in the tags--more fantasy-sharing with indirect fulfillment.

Oliver had fully intended to give Felicity time to settle in when she got home from her week traveling to various Palmer Tech regional offices. While he waited, he'd poured wine, tidied up a bit, piled some delivery menus on the counter. But then she walked in the door, strands of hair coming loose from her ponytail, her lipstick fading, just generally a little mussed from a day of travel. His heart started pounding just looking at her, and before her coat was even fully off, he'd pulled her up into his arms, she'd wrapped her legs around him, and they barely made it to her bedroom.

An hour later, the flush has faded from their skin, heartbeats have returned to a normal pace, but they're still tangled together, sometimes falling into silence while they just revel in the feel of each other. Oliver may have even dozed off once or twice, he’s not sure. What he is sure about is that he’s never felt so...blissful before, in his whole fucked up life. But now it’s a regular occurrence and he’s hooked.

He nuzzles the inside of Felicity’s breast, tracing a crescent around it, and he lets out a sigh of such pure contentment, she giggles at the sound. “Man, you are easy.”

He lifts his head and beams at her, propping himself up on his elbow. “Before we were together—before we were even...a possibility—I used to imagine doing that.” She smirks at him and he grins back, tracing a line down her chest. “You’d wear these button-up shirts—and sometimes if you leaned a certain way, they'd sort of fall open, and I would just…” he trails off, bending to kiss her breast again, skimming his palm over the other one, “...want to do this. Just open your top a little further, see if I could feel your heart beat faster.”

As if on cue, he does feel exactly that, and he sits partway up again to look at her. “That image just appeared in my mind one day, and I tried to push it out, because you were talking to me—probably about something serious and important—and I was imagining my face inside your shirt—”

A laugh bursts out of her at that. “Nice, Oliver.”

He laughs too, “It _was_ nice, actually. I, uh, revisited that picture later; just finally let it play out in my mind one time, and that was _very_ nice. But then the images in my head were crystal clear from that point on, anytime you’d wear a top like that.”

Felicity’s eyes narrow, in faux disbelief. “Are you...saying that you, um, thought about me when you were—?” she quirks an eyebrow to finish that question.

He nods solemnly, “Yes, Felicity, that is what I’m saying.”

A smile starts in one corner of her lips and spreads across her face, and then she pulls it back in and clears her throat. “Well. Then it might interest you to know that you also featured prominently in my, um, _thoughts,_ before we were together.”

Oliver feels tendrils of heat spreading out from his core, and that’s before Felicity puts her palms against his chest and presses him back into the mattress. She climbs on top of him, straddling his thighs, and continues, “I guess I didn’t really let myself... _think about it,"_ she puts a lascivious emphasis on those words and he huffs out a laugh, "until I started working with you—I mean, in the Foundry, not at Queen Consolidated—although, I definitely thought about it then too—but that’s—we can talk about that another time.”

“Yes, we should,” Oliver agrees, and it comes out kind of breathy. He finds himself angling his hips toward her, reflexively, and she glances down at his thickening cock with a little grin.

“I think the first real...fantasy I had involved the hood and the Arrow voice. Actually that's kind of weird, now that I think about it, because you were working out directly in front of me with all of this on display--” she runs both hands up the length of his torso, starting just below his navel, sliding over his abs and chest, gripping his shoulders with enough intensity to make him understand that she is also affected by this conversation.

Then she straightens back up and blinks as if to clear her head. Her fingers play absently over his midsection, skirting over his hips, the tops of his thighs. “So there was this one night—remember you were tailing that money manager guy from the list, and we lost him on the freeway?"

Oliver supposes he _could_ remember this if more blood was flowing to his brain, but as it is, _nyet._

Felicity doesn't wait for confirmation anyway. "You were all 'grrrrrr' about it, but then I found him again on a traffic camera, and you caught up to him." She closes her eyes for a moment, like she’s revisiting it in her mind. “When you got back, you came over to my desk and kind of bent down. And when you pulled back the hood, the greasepaint around your eyes was all...smeared. You squeezed my arm, and you said something like, ‘Felicity, I could never have done that without you.’” Oliver smiles at her attempt at a deep growl, and runs his hands up her thighs. “And that was very sweet, but all I could hear was the way you said my name. Low and rough. It was like...something just shot straight through me, and I think I basically ran out of there a few minutes later. I needed to get away from you. Far, far away.”

Her voice is getting a little smoky, and her ass is pinning his legs to the bed, and Oliver can’t wait anymore. Finally he just slips a finger along her slit, hovering between his thighs, until he finds her slick opening. Felicity slides forward and down to meet it, like she was just waiting for him. He takes a steadying breath and asks quietly, “So what did you do?”

Her eyes open heavily, looking down at him with a vague question. He says again, “What did you do with these thoughts?”

Felicity’s lips curve to one side. “Oh, you know, some night—I don’t know if it was that night, but probably not long after—I came home. Got into bed. And then I called up the image of your face under the hood. Your greasepaint smeared from sweat. Hair glistening with it.” He slides his finger further into her, his thumb brushing lightly against her clit, which makes her eyes flutter closed again. “And your voice—I thought about you saying my name. Hearing it in my ear while you took me up against a pillar.”

She wraps a hand around his now achingly hard cock and Oliver stifles a groan and grits out, “Tell me what you did _,_ Felicity.”

“I slid a finger inside myself.” He swallows hard as she strokes him, and he curls his own finger inside of her, and she pants, “I was already wet, so I added another—” With his other hand on her hip, he lifts her gently to ease a second finger inside her, relishing the feeling of her tightening around him. Her head falls sideways. “Jesus, Oliver. Yes, just like that, only this is about a thousand times better." She bites back a little cry as he flexes his fingers, and the words tumble out fast, her voice strained, "Um then I guess I pressed the heel of my hand against my clit, and I came thinking about you inside me.”

This time, Oliver doesn’t stop himself from groaning, “ _Fuck,_ Felicity.”

She barely seems to notice; she’s biting her lip and her hand on his cock is erratic. Oliver gently removes it, guiding it to his hip so she can brace herself as she grinds back against him. He strokes his fingers deeper, the wet heat of her surrounding his hand. She gasps, "Oliver, _Oliver,_ oh _god,_ Oliver..." He can feel her tense up, digging her nails into his hips and flexing her legs around him. Pressing his thumb harder against her clit, he thrusts his fingers faster inside her, feeling her begin to tremble inside and out; working her still faster, harder, until finally Felicity breaks apart with a long cry, arching her back, squeezing her thighs against his. Her walls pulse around him, her release coating his hand, and he feels like he could come too, just feeling that, watching her.

Felicity slowly collapses forward onto him, his dick caught pleasantly against her breasts. After a minute, she takes his hand, the one that just brought her off, and first kisses and then bites the heel of it gently. He squirms under her, his cock seeking friction, and she looks up at him, chin resting on his chest. “Your turn to tell me what you did, Oliver.”

He's already desperate to be inside her, but fair is fair. He licks his lips, mouth dry, and rasps, “Got in the shower one night. Took myself in my hand and let my mind fill up with images of you. Your skirt creeping up your thighs and hugging your perfect ass; your shirt falling open so I could see the curve of your breasts. I pictured opening a few more buttons and slipping my hands inside, pulling your bra down, pushing you back onto your desk, bending to suck your nipple into my mouth…”

Felicity arcs herself up off of him, hovering in front of him until her nipple glides over his lips. Oliver nips at it greedily, opening his mouth wide around it and sucking hard, flicking it with his tongue. “It was over in seconds,” he breathes against her.

And then he grabs her around the middle, pulling her down so she’s once again straddling him. She lets out a surprised breath, and then reaches between them, wrapping her hand around his cock, swirling her thumb in the moisture gathered at the tip. “And how do you want me, right now?” she asks.

“Just like this,” he whispers, hands skimming along the curve of her ass. She slides her hand down to the base of his dick while she eases onto him. The perfection of her tight, wet heat shorts out his brain for a second; his whole body tenses as she rocks gently against him, and then he responds, thrusting back into her. Her hair hangs in curtains on either side of her face; her hands steady her against his chest. Oliver slides one hand across her stomach, up to her breast, cupping it, capturing her nipple between his fingers, and she gasps. It’s the kind of sound he used to dream about, but never accurately imagined. It’s perfect. Beautiful.

She looks at him, her eyes dark and intense, and says, “I want you to feel you come inside me, Oliver.” And he could do that, right now, this exact moment; he can feel the pressure coiling inside. But suddenly he’s greedy for her to come again first. He loves watching her seek and find her pleasure from him. He loves giving that to her. He hopes she knows he would give her anything.

He drops his hand back down to her center, pressing his thumb against her clit, and he groans at her tightening around him. Immediately, Felicity changes the angle of her hips, and her eyes drop closed, and he knows she’s found her spot. She plants her hands on either side of his shoulders, grinding hard against him. Bringing his free hand up behind her head, he pulls her closer to him, and pleads, “Felicity.” It comes out low and gravelly, which wasn’t even his intent, but he realizes when she moans, and he fists his hand in her hair and with his mouth right against her ear, he says it again. _“Felicity.”_ And again, and again, until it just feels like breathing.

Oliver circles her clit, faster and harder, and her mouth falls open into a silent cry. She digs her nails into his shoulders, grinding her hips into him with a fury. She begins to lose the rhythm, chanting his name in response to her own, and then he feels her walls fluttering around him again, her toes scrambling for purchase on the sheets, and then she lets out a long, low moan.

But he barely hears it over the roar that escapes him as he releases into her, his own climax hitting him like a rogue wave, with wave after wave following after as he shudders beneath her, accepting her body in a boneless embrace.

They both ride it out, trying to breathe again and chuckling a few times at the sound of their panting. Felicity plants tiny kisses next to his ear, and he rubs wide circles across her back with his palms.

“So...I should bring the hood over sometime, huh?” he asks, trying to subdue his smirk.

She groans, “Okay, listen….Yes. But don’t get too hung up on the hood. As you know, I have a great imagination, so I have, like, a whole library of fantasies involving you in basically every conceivable ensemble, setting, position, you name it.” A laugh begins to rumble through him as she ticks them off. “Tuxedo Oliver? Check. Henley Oliver? Yes. Suits? Look, I have separate ones for suits with and without vests, okay? I mean...this is serious.”

“I get it," he nods. "Mine maybe aren't quite so elaborate, but they are varied and numerous.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Well, give me a heads up next time I’m wearing something that lines up with one of your fantasies, and we’ll make it happen.”

He grins, “How will you know I’m not just making it up to get in your pants? Or skirt, as the case may be?”

“I won’t, but you don’t need an excuse to get in my pants, Oliver. You can safely assume that I’m just waiting for you to get me out of them.”

They don’t get back in their pants or any other clothing for the rest of the night. But the next day when they meet up at the Foundry, he walks by her desk and Felicity reaches out and hooks a finger through a belt loop of his cargo pants, looking up at him with a cocked eyebrow. And later Oliver tugs on her ponytail, letting it slide through his hand with a smirk, which she returns with a promise in her eyes. A promise fulfilled mere hours later, right there on her desk, as it turns out.


End file.
